


Tealeaf and Halfinch

by writteninhaste



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames turned around and saw Death standing behind him. “Bugger.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The twin city of Ankh-Morpork was flatulent, pestilent and riddled with olfactory offences. Eames loved it. 

He had always known he wanted to be a thief and Ankh-Morpork was the perfect breeding ground for such unscrupulous behaviour. Eames’ father had been rather set on his becoming an assassin – more glamorous and better paid – but Eames’ sixteenth birthday present to himself was to abscond with the Guild-Master’s mistress and it had rather blown his chances at being accepted. His father though it a shame – the art courses at the Guild were second to none – but since Eames had shown such a talent for thievery he wasn’t particularly bothered. It helped that the Guild-Master’s mistress was an exceptional cook and had a weakness for pot-bellied men with thinning hair on top. Eames merrily left them to it and enrolled in the Guild of Thieves the next day.

Technically, the Guild’s full title was Guild of Thieves, Cutpurses and Allied Trades. The Guild had moved into the old courthouse long after its previous occupants had vacated it (having given law and order up as a bad job in general.) Eames had been one of the Guild’s best students and was now one of its best Thieves. He’d dabbled as a Cutpurse for a while but his talents had been wasted there and the Guild-Master had quickly moved him onto better things. 

Most thieves lived in the courthouse where the general rule that you didn’t steal from comrades kept things in order. Eames chose to make his home outside the Guild however, favouring one of Ankh-Morpork’s seedy underbellies. He’d chosen the one on the east side of the city because it was far enough from his father’s to be an un-easy walking distance but not so far as to be un-companionable. 

Eames had just finished picking the lock on his own front door when he felt a presence looming behind him. Leaving the kettle to mind its own business he turned around. And promptly lost ten years off his life.

Death was standing behind him, bony hands wrapped around his scythe and hood thrown back off his face. Eames wet his lips and stared at the scythe.

“Bugger.”

Death looked at him with hollow eyes. He was grinning. But really, a skull can do little else. 

DON’T WORRY. I’M NOT HERE FOR YOU. YET.

Eames sagged slightly in relief then straightened. He returned his attention to the kettle and began fixing tea. He waved a mug in Death’s general direction.

NO THANK-YOU

Eames nodded and made tea for one. “Right, so if not me, what are you here for, then?”

I NEED A FAVOUR

Eames eyed Death skeptically. This sounded like something the Guild of Assassins should be handling but Eames was willing to try anything once and it would make his old man happy. Still – “What would I get out of it?”

A FREE PASS

Considering the Guild-Master of Assassins still wasn’t too happy with Eames for running off with his lady, Eames thought this might be a good thing to have. “Right-O then. What do you need me for?”

I NEED YOU TO STEAL SOMEONE

“Who?”

MY APPRENTICE

Eames frowned. “I thought he married your daughter.”

I HAVE ANOTHER ONE

“Didn’t work out so well last time though, did it?”

ONE CAN BUT TRY

Eames thought this possibly wasn’t wise but didn’t want to say. “Alright, so I steal you apprentice. Then what do I do with him?”

CONVINCE HIM TO SEEK ALTERNATIVE EMPLOYMENT

“If you want rid of him, why don’t you just give him the boot.”

HE’S VERY GOOD AT HIS JOB.

Eames raised an eyebrow. Death looked a little chagrined. Eames decided not to pursue the matter. “Fair enough. Are you bringing him here or am I supposed to sneak into your place. You’ll remember how that didn’t work so well last time.

YES. BUT THIS TIME, I WON’T BE TRYING TO STOP YOU

Eames grinned. Death grinned back. They shook on it like gentlemen and Eames kept his fingers crossed behind his back.


	2. Chapter 1

Arthur shuffled the sheaf of papers Death had left him before the evening rounds and set them aside. His quill needed more ink. Somewhere in the bowls of the house Albert was grumbling around the kitchen, banging pots and enjoying his self-inflicted misery. In the hallway the overly-tall grandfather clocked chimed rather dolefully.   
  
Sighing, Arthur pushed away from his desk and went to hunt for more ink. No matter how many times he rearranged them, the inkwells never seemed to be in the same place twice. He was tempted to lay blame on Albert. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind told him this might be Death’s idea of a good joke.   
  
There was a rattle at the window and Arthur looked round in time to see a man slink through the casement and lad on his feet. He was dressed like a burglar, complete with eye-mask, flat-cap, stripy jumper and an obscenely large sack labelled  _SWAG_. It gave the distinct impression that the burglar might be compensating for something.  
  
The burglar caught sight of Arthur and paused, somewhat sheepishly. “Oh you’re here. Running a bit behind schedule aren’t you? Normally you’re looking for new inkwells by now.”  
  
Arthur sighed. “I was just about to start.”  
  
“Right-O.” Said the thief. “Well, if you can just get back to doing that, I can get on with the business of stealing you.”  
  
“Stealing  _me_?” Arthur demanded. “Don’t burglars usually steal  _things_  and leave the kidnapping to the experts?”  
  
“I am an expert. See.” The burglar dug a card out from his back pocket and handed it to Arthur. The ink was smeared in one corner where it had obviously gotten wet at some point.   
  


_\-------- Eames. Certified Thief._  
Advanced Qualifications in looting, cat-burglary, heist-management and kidnapping. 

Recognised member of the   
 **Guild of Cutpurses, Thieves and Allied Trades.**

Please address all complaints and/or inquiries to your local Guild representative.

  
  
Arthur returned the card and Eames slipped it back into his pocket. He held the  _SWAG_  bag out to Arthur. “As you can see, this is all officially sanctioned. So if you’d be so kind as to get into the bag we can be on our way.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Eames blinked at him. “No.”  
  
“I have work to do and I don’t much feel like being stolen. Please leave.”   
  
Eames huffed as Arthur turned away and began rummaging in one of the cupboards. Really, refusal wasn’t the done thing. Everyone knew that when a thief came to steal something, you let him get on with it and then filed a claim with the Guild once he’d had sufficient time to get away. Refusing to participate at all was just un-sporting.  
  
With a sigh, Eames cracked Arthur neatly over the head, knocking him unconscious. He felt bad about it until he saw that Arthur had not been looking for inkwells at all and was instead clutching a weighted baton that had been hidden in the cupboard. Impressed with the man’s resourcefulness, Eames deigned to put everything back in its proper place before bundling Arthur into his sack.  
  
He carefully lowered the sack out the window, checked that the coast was clear. Then (because Eames was a proud thief and always did things by the book) he went back to the desk and left Death a receipt.  
  
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo  
  
Arthur awoke with a splitting headache and the stench of burlap sticking in his nostrils. He was lying on a bed – which was surprising. And his hands and feet were bound – which was not.  
  
There was an almighty crash, followed by a bout of swearing and then a head poked itself around the door.  
  
“I was just making a spot of breakfast.” The head said. “Would you like some?”  
  
Arthur recalled the greasy breakfasts Albert seemed to favour and felt his stomach roll unpleasantly. Of ourse, that might have had more to do with the concussion he was sporting but you never knew.  
  
“Nothing fried I hope.”  
  
The head shook itself; it needed a haircut. “Fresh fruit and a pot of coffee. There’s some bread too if you’d like it.”  
  
“Stolen?” Arthur asked.  
  
“ ’Course.” The head said. “But tastes better for it, I promise.”  
  
Arthur looked down at the rope tied around his hands and feet.” I’ll be eating in here then, I take it?”  
  
“That’s the idea.”  
  
Arthur sighed. “Very well. Some breakfast please.”  
  
The head disappeared again and Arthur took the chance to look around. The room was filled with loot from all over the disc – possibly even the multiverse. And all of it was gaudy enough to put even the most dedicated of wizards to shame.   
  
The reappeared, accompanied by a body this time, and carrying a tray of food which it placed carefully in Arthur’s lap. Arthur looked up into a pair of eyes the colour of the River Ankh (or at least, the colour that the River Ankh might have been had it not been forced to run through the city.)  
  
Arthur looked down again. “Are you the same man who stole me yesterday.”  
  
The man nodded. “Would have thought that was obvious.”  
  
“Just checking.” Arthur said. “You sound different.”  
  
The thief, and here Arthur remembered his name was Eames, grinned the grin of someone very pleased with their professional performance.   
  
“I am a Master of Disguise. Full marks during training.”  
  
“You gave me a card with your name on it.” Arthur said.  
  
Eames looked blank for a moment and then flushed. “Yes, well. No reason for that to be my real name is there?”  
  
Arthur had a sneaking position that the name on the card was just that. He decided not to mention it. Thieves weren’t known for murdering people but assumptions often turn out to be wrong. “I thought thieves were supposed to speak in rhyming slang.” Arthur said and watched as Eames turned even redder.  
  
“Never got the hang of it.” Eames said. “Mostly I get by just by keeping my mouth shut during a job. Never meant to talk to you at all.” He paused. “You won’t tell anyone will you?”  
  
“Set me free and I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Arthur said.   
  
“Or I could just keep you here and you won’t have a chance to tell anyone.”  
  
Arthur had thought he might say that. At least there had been no death-threats. Things were looking up. Manoeuvring his bound hands with the skill of a man who had been subject to kidnapping at least once before Arthur popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. Eames reached over and did the same.  
  
They chewed in silence for a while and then Arthur helped himself to a cup of coffee. “Were you paid to steal me or was it something of a whim?”  
  
Eames swallowed his mouthful and seemed to come to a decision. “It was beneficial.” He said evasively.   
  
“You do know who my employer is?” Arthur asked. It seemed a necessary fact to establish. Though how he was going to get back to Death’s House without Death was a conundrum. Perhaps if he could find a wizard –  
  
“Smashing fellow.” Eames said brightly. “Little lacking in the social graces but I suppose that’s natural given his profession.” He stole the last of the fruit but left the coffee. “How did you come to work for him, anyway?”  
  
“I like to work with the best.” Arthur said.   
  
Eames eyed the three-piece suit and the cufflinks shaped like tiny hourglasses. Even after being kidnapped, bagged and trussed like a turkey not a single hair was out of place on Arthur’s head. Eames supposed that for someone that fastidious keeping track of every soul on the disc really was the most suitable profession.   
  
“Your family must worry though.”  
  
Arthur shrugged. “They think I’m an accountant.”  
  
Eames shuddered. “Please send them my condolences.”  
  
“It’s fine. I have a sister who’s a seamstress. Gives them plenty to talk about at dinner parties.”  
  
Eames seemed to think about this for a moment before levering himself to his feet. He pulled a knife from his pocket and Arthur went very still. Oblivious to his captive’s distress, Eames went about sawing the ropes from Arthur’s hands and feet.  
  
“Right. Let’s take a turn about the city shall we?”  
  
Arthur blinked. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Been a while since you’ve been to Ankh-Morpork I expect – thought we’d take a walk around town. Get you a bit of fresh air.”  
  
Arthur nodded. “That would be lovely.”  
  
Eames grinned. Arthur socked him in the jaw and ran for it.


End file.
